


Burning Like A Brand

by edenbound



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: Infidelity, M/M, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-31
Updated: 2010-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-06 21:38:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenbound/pseuds/edenbound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes leaves his mark on Watson, even now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burning Like A Brand

Holmes watches Watson dressing. There's still a flush in Watson's cheeks, but that isn't truly so tell-tale -- not so tell-tale as the bruises and bites Holmes has left on him. Mary will see them, he thinks, and feels a surge of horribly mingled feels. He takes a moment to sort them out, still watching Watson, eyes lingering on the marks, on the places where his fingers left their outlines. He feels a little shame, yes, at the thought of Mary and her acceptance of the way they are, the way she never even looks a reproach at him. He feels possessive -- perhaps the strongest, the headiest of the feelings, this. He feels want, wants to touch the marks and press his fingers into them, deepen and darken them, lay Watson out under him... A kind of triumph, then.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks, eyeing a more obvious mark, the mark of fingernails a little too sharp, biting a little too deep. But Watson shakes his head.

"No," and then, awkwardly, "or, rather, I believe I rather like it."

Holmes sits up a little at that. "I believe I shall have to ask you to remove your clothes again."

"Oh?" Watson asks, and Holmes knows him well enough to know that it isn't really a question.

"Yes," he says, anyway. "Unless you wish them to be rather sadly torn."

"I do have to leave here, at some point," Watson says, though it isn't exactly a protest, for he's busy undoing his shirt again, leaving his clothes in a characteristically neat pile on the foot of the bed. Holmes is glad to see little shame in him, now -- he has never thought Watson could fully escape the shackles of their time, but he has adjusted almost better than Holmes had anticipated. Almost.

"Come here," he says, almost surprised at the heat he feels, almost surprised at his own desires. When Watson is close enough he pushes him down into the pillows, traces a hand over his side and then puts his hand on his hip, over one of those bruises, presses down on it. Watson's little intake of breath is gratifying. He isn't going to lower himself so much as to say any of the things that sometimes gather on his tongue -- _I want you, I need you_ \-- but he's aware that his eyes, his actions, all of that speaks for him, and Watson is no idiot. He knows.

Watson's hand cups the back of his neck, warm and heavy, pulling him in so that first their breath mingles and then so their mouths touch. He's thorough about it, if slow, pushing deep into Holmes' mouth. That's all the reply he needs -- indeed, he never truly needed the reply anyway.

He runs his fingertips over the length of Watson's cock, touches the head delicately. "You are ready again," he says, rubbing just a little with the pad of his finger, teasing just a little with a tiny flick of his nail. Watson gasps and rocks a little, up into it. "I must not let you go from here unsatisfied, after all."

"Holmes," Watson says, breathlessly, his hand tightening, perhaps leaving his own marks. Holmes smiles, knowing, presses his face into Watson's neck to bite there -- lightly now, knowing there is a line that they mustn't cross. He knows just how to touch Watson, how to make him gasp. He knows him better now than anything, has made Watson's body and its responses one of his studies, and he knows just exactly how to make Watson finish far too quickly, even when he's trying to hang on to control. He uses every single one of those exploits now, moving his mouth down to where he can leave a mark, vivid like a brand.

When Watson comes, body jerking, there is only one quick hiss of breath, one name -- and Holmes wonders, without any real shame now in the heat of it, in the pride of a kind of ownership, if he finishes like that with Mary too, if she knows all the time of the brand he's set on Watson, the way they're intertwined.


End file.
